


Jeremy Bearimy, Baby

by RedNightingale



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Magical Realism, Meet-Cute, Rom-com, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 09:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21407884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedNightingale/pseuds/RedNightingale
Summary: Time means nothing for what is meant to be.Even if that implies jumping a couple centuries and several thousand miles to meet your future boyfriend.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Jeremy Bearimy, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Writing rom-com fics is not usually my cup of tea, but I saw [this tweet](https://twitter.com/nikoblasto/status/1192509591025864706?s=20%E2%80%9D) and just could not resist. 
> 
> Title is a reference to the show The Good Place, where it is explained that time is non-linear and does, in fact, resemble the handwritten name "Jeremy Bearimy", so (SPOILER) by the Season 3 finale, when one of the characters needs to have his memory erased, forgetting ever meeting his girlfriend and all that happened since, he explains that no matter the times he needs to be resetted, they will eventually always find each other, and 'get to chill in the dot of the i together' because [time means nothing](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/12/5f/ca/125fca784d26e90004eddc457035e495.jpg) (/SPOILER)

Only fools would make a deal with witches. And only the truly desperate know where to find them.

Most of what the legends say are lies. Knights will boast at taverns about their encounters with demons, spilling their liquor as they make grand gestures with their hands to signify their bravery, their strength, the way the creatures from the deepest pits of hell ended bowing to their feet, looking at their enraptured audience with a self-satisfying smirk, but their tales are no more true the more charisma is put into their words. Traveling troupes will arrive at a new town and explain away their broken carriages and stained clothes by artifice of the faeries, but their dismayed faces and pitiful gazes come not from an encounter, but from years upon years of performance to gain sympathy from folk that would otherwise not treat them to dinner. And men and women would claim a course from a witch to explain not getting married, not getting a good harvest, or not getting a firstborn son. But the truth is, none of them had an encounter with the preternatural: if they did, they wouldn’t speak of it so freely.

That does not mean that they don’t exist: the world is crawling with forces beyond human understanding; good, evil, and all shades in between. They rarely cross paths with humans, however, unless one is hoping to find them. The places they roam are rarely ever visited by God-fearing folk: they are not the roads from the tales about demons and fae, the places men will brag about visiting and coming back alive; they are the crossroads men are afraid to even mention during midday, the roads no one takes for fear of never reaching the end. They are not in the legends, but in the spaces between them, marked by the silence and whispers, the unspoken words and the avoided gazes.

So, if one is desperate enough and foolish enough, they are not difficult to find, provided one has the means to travel and no fear of death.

Jack has never been prudent, or wise, and having nothing to lose has left him with little to fear.

The storm had broken two miles ago, just after sunset. The rain-soaked cloak clung to his skin like an icy mantle, and each new raindrop fell on his skin like a sharp needle. The cold wind hit his body, hindering his movements, but he spurred the stallion to go further. He had half a mile still to cross, and missing midnight would mean a whole month lost. That was time he could not afford. The road seemed never-ending, and for a moment he feared that it would all have been for nothing.

He arrived at the crossroads two minutes before midnight. He barely had the time to get off the horse before it started bucking wildly, ears frantically going back and forth as he snorted and whinnied in fear.

“Easy there,” he tried, but to no avail. A white light reflected on the animal’s eyes before it broke Jack’s hold on the reins and bolted away.

He turned around to find the figure of a young woman. At first, the sight would not have been all that off, but her clothes —a traveler’s cloak and light boots— were dry, and the rain around did not seem to touch her. As his eyes adapted to the light, he found it came not from a campfire but from inside her, radiating off her skin. She seemed not to notice him, occupied with picking some plant from the dirt.

“Witch,” he began, swallowing through the lump on his throat, “I’ve come to make a deal.”

She turned her blond head, facing him for the first time. Her gaze was soft, and not unkind, but Jack knew better than to trust her. “You’ve come from afar, stranger. What is it that you seek? It must matter a great deal, for such a journey.”

Jack had practiced the words a hundred times, still he found himself tongue-tied. “I want true love,” he croaked.

The witch laughed, a sound like wind bells and music. “So do many, yet little are willing to make a deal with a witch for it.”

“I know I will never find it here.” He’d spent his whole youth yearning for a woman to spark his interest, but none of them did. The military order had promised far-off lands and noble quests, yet he still found himself lacking a partner that would fill the hole in his chest. The more he looked, the more he was certain that what he sought for was never meant to be.

She stared into his eyes, silent for a moment, and smiled. “I know where it is, and I can take you there.” He couldn’t stop the smile splitting his face open even if he’d tried. “But it comes at a great cost,” she finished. She seemed saddened, gaze lowering.

“I am willing to pay for it.”

“You will have to leave this life behind.”

“Then so be it,” he stated.

She took one of her pendants, putting it around his neck. “When the stone hits your skin, you will fall into a deep sleep. You will open them again, and find yourself to be somewhere else. The person you first lock eyes with is your one true love.” The stone still rested between her fingers, just out of reach. “You have but a moon to make them fall in love with you. By the next new moon, if your feelings are not reciprocated, you will come back here, and you will never see them again.” He gulped, nodding. “You shall not speak about that requirement either, for it would taint their feelings for you.” Her fingers twirled the pendant, still not letting go. “Those are the terms. Do you agree to them?”

“I agree,” he answered. And, with that, she withdrew her hand.

The world went black.

* * *

Christmas was Gabriel’s least favorite time of the year. For one, the cold was nerve-wracking: no matter how many layers he wore, he still felt freezing, and his hands would always go numb, gloves or not. He hated the over-the-top, gaudy decorations, the same song playing over and over again at every shop, the phony coziness and the Christmas spirit.

“You’re basically the Grinch,” Olivia said.

He didn’t know why he’d agreed to help her shopping. He should have seen it was a trap. “Okay. Still not going to the New Year’s party.”

“_Dios santo_,” she complained, “like you have anything better to do.”

Gabriel stared at the window of a toy store with feigned interest. “I do. I have a date.” He saw Olivia roll her eyes through the reflection on the glass.

“Yea, sure,” she scoffed. “I’ve seen your Twitter. You complain about not having a boyfriend like, 15 times a day. And don’t get me started on your search hist—”

“I just don’t like New Year’s, okay?” He answered, picking up the pace again. They practically had to elbow their way through the crowd. “Besides, you’re gonna be with Amélie, Ana is gonna be with Reinhardt, and I’ll get to sit on the sofa and drink like a fucking loner. I can do that at home, y’know. Without having to get dressed.”

“Are you aware that, to get a boyfriend, you have to meet them first? You have to get out of the house, meet new people, have fun. It’s not like Prince Charming is going to just bump into y—”

The rest of the sentence was lost to Gabriel as he collided against someone else. Fucker hadn’t been watching where they were heading, it seemed. The force of the impact made him almost lose balance, and the other man had to take two steps back not to fall. He grabbed his shoulder, where it hurt most, and stared at the guy.

He was soaking wet, for starters, and that was strange considering it hadn’t snowed in a couple of days. He also seemed incredibly cold, judging from the shivers and how blue his lips were. He was attractive, he’d give him that. Although a bit out of place with that medieval-fair outfit in the middle of the city and well into December.

“You okay?” He asked.

Their eyes met, then, and the stranger's eyes grew wide.

“Are you the love of my life?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill with me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/ReddNightingale)


End file.
